


Fragrance

by aryadeschain



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryadeschain/pseuds/aryadeschain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris had keen senses, but probably none of them was nearly as good as his sense of smell</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragrance

Living with the Fog Warriors for a while gave Fenris an extensive set of skills he never would have acquired if it wasn't for them. It forced him to improve his own survival abilities, consequently helping him develop keener senses. He would consider himself a good spotter, small noises would make him prick up his ears in alertness. But during his short time as a free elf back then, and since then, he also learned to recognize smells. Perhaps the lyrium infused in his skin did play its part, gave him something close to a synesthesia. In time, he learned to remember smells like he remembered parts of his past, relating them with memories either pleasant and unpleasant.

For an instance, whenever he got close to Anders, he could smell the salve the mage used to heal his patients. Squashed leaves, wet gauze, antiseptics. And something else, like burning metal. It was like the smell of something burning in cold weather. He couldn't quite describe it, but he smelled the same thing on Merrill, only Merrill also had the scent of the wind blowing on fields of barley and wild berries. He got to the conclusion that maybe that weird smell was typical of mages. It reminded him of the atmosphere of Tevinter, and he wasn't really fond of the memories he had of the place.

Aveline's had a faint smell of parchments and melted wax seals, steel, metal and dust. She smelled of discipline and order, of fights and agreements, of treaties.

Varric had the typical smell of a storyteller: the scent of blank pages, black ink, strong spirits, half-eaten walnuts, sleepless nights, epic adventures and endless tales.

Isabela was an interesting one. She had the strong scent of cheap rum, of saltwater seas, of blood on steel, of rust and sand and golden coins. Of lust and self-confidence.

Hawke ripped him from his thoughts as she gave him a long, sweet kiss on the cheek.

"What deviant thoughts are running through your head now?".

He looked at her surprised at first, then chuckled.

"Redolence."

"Why? Am I stinking?"

He dispersed her fleeting look of concern with a warm embrace.

"No. You can never stink, not even if you try."

"Then maybe I'm not trying hard enough?" she replied casually with a hint of amusement in her voice, then ran her nose through the curve of his neck.

"Lemon grass.", she uttered.

"Hmm?"

"You smell like lemon grass. And recently washed sheets."

"I suppose that's a good thing?"

She gave him that smile of genuine happiness that was so unique, so... Hawke.

"Smells like home."

He smiled at her too, then let her put her ear in his chest to hear his heart beating. She did that a lot when they were together.

So... what did Hawke smell like?

He thought about it for a long while, and yet he couldn't quite define it. It was sweet like milk and honey, strong as the earth after the rain, fresh like the snow, vast as the ocean. She smelled like the wind on autumn day, of cherry flowers, of safety and kindness and... love?

He pulled her closer in a tight embrace, resting his cheek on her forehead, that precious human being that was only his.

She smelled of freedom.


End file.
